Baby's Got Sauce
by pfloogs72
Summary: Sookie Stackhouse is a rising star on the culinary scene with a secret sauce that's the talk of the town. In a world where everybody is trying to get their hands on her sauce, the one person she can trust is the last person she expected – Chef Northman.


_**My entry for the Kiss A Cook Contest. Thanks to A_Redhead_Thing and Ohfortuneslost for hosting the contest. Go check out the other entries - they're lots of fun!  
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_**And heaps of gratitude to Miss Construed for beta'ing this story and providing sage advice.**_

_**Oh, and the title comes from the song by G. Love and Special Sauce :)**_

_**Hope you enjoy!**_

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"You lill bitsch." It's difficult to curse, much less speak when your lips are swollen up like water balloons. Not that I've ever had to try, but it sure looked difficult. A giggle escaped my lips.

I winked at Bill and gave him a coy smile. His face was distorted, puffy and mottled with anger.

"Now, now, Bill." I spoke to him in a patient voice I'd previously reserved for uncomprehending children. I tapped the tip of my index finger on my chin and cocked my head. "I'm pretty sure that _you're_ the little bitch in this scenario."

A scream of rage reverberated off the hard metal surfaces of the commercial kitchen. In what seemed like slow motion, the gleaming copper saucier careened across the kitchen end over end. A stream of vibrant green sauce splattered every surface in the pan's path. With a clatter the pan fell to the floor and rolled around until gravity momentarily reclaimed the peace.

"Was that _really_ necessary?" I asked in a calm voice.

With another scream Bill stormed across the commercial kitchen and swung through the double doors. He was out of my life. Good riddance.

I turned off the gas burner, washed my hands, turned off the lights, and left the disarray behind.

Somebody else could clean up that mess.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

_**Four weeks earlier**_

"Sweetie. It's high time you got laid."

I choked on my wine and forcibly spat it back in the glass. A glance around the bar showed that mercifully nobody seemed to notice my graceless incident.

"Jesus, Amelia." I coughed. My throat burned from the alcohol.

"Sookie, it's true. You're wound way too tight. You need a good romp in the sack."

"Amelia, not everybody's life revolves around..." I took a furtive glance around and lowered my voice to a disgusted whisper, "_fucking._"

She swirled the wine around in her glass and raised an eyebrow. "And it's a damned shame. The world would be a much, much happier place if people would just let their inhibitions loose and screw."

I shook my head in disbelief that my best friend and I were such polar opposites when it came to sex.

"I for one believe that…."

She cut me off, mockingly completing my sentence in an irritating singsong voice, "that sex is something that happens between a man and a woman who love each other very much." She leaned back in her chair muttering, "How is it that my best friend is so damned Puritanical?"

A burly guy with a goatee and a face one bar fight away from looking like Mickey Rourke ambled past and winked at Amelia.

"Hey gorgeous….it's been a while. Buy you a drink?"

In a pouf Amelia was gone. She and Tray were so on and off they made Shanna Moakler and Travis Barker look stable.

"Slut," I muttered under my breath. I took comfort in my wine and surveyed the crowded bar. I loathed these industry events. I was connected to virtually everybody here; we'd either gone to culinary school together, or had worked together in a kitchen. It was a competitive crowd, and everybody was in everybody else's business. Or pants. I probably did need to get laid, but I sure as hell wasn't looking to anybody in this room to take care of my needs.

It had taken me ten years, but I finally had my own kitchen and it was getting a lot of buzz. My signature dish featured a secret sauce, and apparently people couldn't get enough of it. That squarely put a fat red target on my back and I could feel the stares and hear the whispers of my "friends" in the crowd. They'd only be too happy to see me fall.

I looked at my watch and figured I'd shown my face for an adequate amount of time when I groaned at the approaching swagger of the man who'd been the fly in my ointment since our introductory cooking course years ago.

"Well, if it isn't the always sweet and lovely Sookie Stackhouse."

He sank into the chair Amelia had vacated, helping himself to an olive from the small bowl on the cocktail table between us.

I eyeballed him for a few moments. "What do you want, Northman?"

"You always ask me the same question, I always give you the same answer. You."

I rolled my eyes and took a sip. "You don't want me. You want my sauce."

"Everybody else here?" He waved his arm indicating the entire crowd. "_They_ want your sauce. I just want you."

I really didn't have the energy to put up with his glib routine. "Give it a rest, Eric. Why don't you go find some desperate little apprentice pastry chef to boff in the coat room." An amused smile broke out across his maddeningly gorgeous face.

Despite our years-long game of cat-and-mouse, Eric was the one person in this crowd I genuinely trusted. Not that I'd readily admit that to him. The last thing I wanted was to give him grounds to be cockier than he already was.

The man had confidence in spades, and for good reason; he was executive chef at one of the most exciting restaurants in town, and perennially on the list of hottest bachelors in the city. Women fell at his feet. It was disgusting. I certainly did not want to be counted among those women.

"I've got to go," I announced, and gathered my purse, heaving myself out the chair.

"Sookie." Eric spoke in a disappointed voice.

"Good night, Eric."

I waved to Amelia on my way out of the bar, and could feel Eric's eyes following me until I was outside on the street.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

I breathed a sigh of relief when the wheels touched down on the runway. I've read the statistics. Intellectually I know that air travel is the safest way to get from point A to point B, but it still defied all logic to me.

The Argentine Consulate had flown chefs and food and wine writers in for a lavish event promoting wines from Mendoza. Normally I would avoid such an event like the plague, but Argentina had captured my imagination long ago, and the temptation of a four-day all expenses paid trip proved to be more than I could resist.

I knew several people who were attending and many more by reputation, but the majority of the attendees were from all over the country. It was a welcome influx of fresh, unknown faces.

After 14 hours of travel, I was in dire need of a nap and shower before the big welcome dinner; luckily I had time for both. Three hours later I felt like a new woman - fluffy fresh and looking a little foxy if I did say so myself. It was a wasted effort though. Dinner was excellent and the wines were superior, but somehow every conversation came back to my special sauce. I was ready to take a fork to my eye.

I'd reluctantly agreed to meet with Sophie-Anne LeClerq for after-dinner drinks in the hotel bar. Sophie-Anne had inherited a run-of-the-mill chain of restaurants from her father, and spun them into an outrageously successful high-end restaurant group. She plucked chefs who were on the verge of making it big, gave them their own restaurant, dumped buckets of money on splashy openings, hired the best PR firms to rep them, and then marketed the hell out of the accompanying food lines. She was raking in the dough hand over fist. I'd put off a meeting with her for over a year; I simply couldn't avoid it any longer.

She was waiting for me in a private nook at our agreed upon time. Sophisticated in an understated way, she was always immaculately dressed to blend with her surroundings.

"Sookie, I'm so glad you could join me." She stood to kiss me on both cheeks then indicated the empty plush chair across from her with a sweep of her hand. "Please."

A waiter was instantly at our side pouring a flute of champagne from the bottle chilling in the bucket at the ready. We tipped our raised flutes genially at each other before taking a sip. The pale gold liquid slid down my throat. It was unnecessary to look at the label to know that she had ordered the best the hotel had to offer. There was no denying her excellent taste.

"What can I do for you, Sophie-Anne?"

She laughed musically. "Oh, you're not one to beat around the bush, are you Sookie?"

I smiled back politely, albeit insincerely. "I've never really seen the point."

An appreciative grin spread over her face. "I can see we share many similarities, Sookie." She took a sip and closed her eyes briefly, momentarily savoring the vintage on her tongue. "To get right down to it, I want you."

My mind flicked back to my last conversation with Eric Northman.

"You mean you want my sauce."

"I want you and your sauce, of course. One and the same, non?"

My hackles were raised.

"I'm sorry to have wasted your time and champagne, but I'm not interested." I made a move to leave.

She raised an unbelieving eyebrow. "You're leaving before you've even listened to what I'm offering? That's a bit…foolhardy, don't you think?"

I leaned back and cocked my head to the side. I'd listen to what she had to say. At least I could enjoy the rest of my bubbly.

"Your own restaurant – a big restaurant. Not the little hoop-de-scoop 700 square feet that you're operating now. A renowned interior designer to bring your ultimate vision into reality, print and tv media opportunities that will put you on the map and probably lead to a book deal. The chance to be one of _my_ chefs." Her smile sickened me.

"You haven't mentioned the food line."

"Of course, dear. We bottle up that secret sauce of yours and sell the tar out of it. You get 10% of the profits from every bottle sold."

"Who gets the other 90%?"

She smiled again. "I do, of course."

I threw back the dregs of my champagne and smiled at her. "While I'm flattered that you're interested in making me one of _your _chefs, I'm just not interested." My voice steadily rose in indignation. "I love my hoop-de-scoop 700 square feet. And there's no way in _hell_ you're bottling a bastardized version of my sauce and profiting on it. Good night."

I hightailed it to my room before she could ply me with more champagne and attempt to change my mind. While money was nice, what I did in the kitchen was an extension of myself. It was who I was - what I represented. The secret sauce was something I'd created with my Gran many moons ago in her country kitchen in Louisiana.

The shower beckoned to me. After cleansing myself of the conversation with Sophie-Anne and the scent of grilled meats, I slipped into my nightgown and sank into the hotel bed.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The next morning I awoke early and ventured down to the hotel veranda overlooking the lush grounds and distant polo fields for breakfast. I'd always been an early bird and a stickler for breakfast. The veranda was deserted save for a lone man dressed classically and safely bland, reading the New Yorker.

I smiled in greeting and took a table that respected his privacy, but allowed me to discreetly appreciate his handsome features.

He looked up from his magazine and smiled. "Looks like we're the only two not sleeping the day away."

I smiled and stirred my cappuccino. A thought crossed my mind and I blurted out, "You don't cook, do you?"

He laughed. "Well that's an interesting opener."

"It's just I..."

"I can cook enough to not starve, but I wouldn't venture to try to feed anyone else my creations."

I could feel the tension in my shoulders relax a little just talking to him.

"Care to join me?" He coolly pushed back the chair across from him with his foot and gestured for me to sit.

"I'd like that. Thank you." I gathered my coffee mug and plate of fruit and took a seat across from the dashing stranger.

"I'm Bill Compton," he extended a hand across the table.

"I'm Sookie. Sookie Stackhouse."

"Sookie Stackhouse?" Bill asked. A ripple of recognition crossed his face. "Your name sounds familiar. How do I know you?"

"I'm a chef in New York. I've gotten some press recently because I have a…." I hesitated for a moment because it always sounded so silly.

"Secret sauce," Bill finished.

I controlled the expression on my face. That damned secret sauce had been both a blessing and a curse.

I raised my eyebrows and smiled unenthusiastically. "Yep, that's me."

Bill smiled at me warmly. "You finally jogged my memory. I read the article in the Times a couple of months ago. That sauce has earned you quite the reputation."

"I'd like to think there's more to my food, and me, than my secret sauce," I said tartly.

He reached across the table. Cool fingers brushed against mine. "I have no doubt there is much, much more to you." He looked me straight in the eyes and made my stomach flip. "Let's not talk about sauce anymore."

My face relaxed into an apologetic smile. "Forgive me for being a little crazy. There's been such interest over that stupid sauce…it's wearing me slick."

I took a sip of my cappuccino, carefully avoiding a foam moustache, and gave Bill a bright smile.

"So tell me, Bill, what do you do?"

"Importing."

There was a vagary if I'd ever heard one. I raised my brow expectantly, awaiting a little more detail.

Instead he changed the subject back to me. "So, what's on the docket for you today?"

"This morning there's a dulce de leche workshop, an afternoon bike tour of some local wineries, and a big parrilla dinner featuring Malbec and Torrontes wines."

He gave me a quizzical look.

"It's a food and wine gathering. I assumed you were part of the group at first - I thought we'd taken over the entire hotel."

"I suppose I made my reservation early. Well I'm sorry to hear you're all booked up. Perhaps I'll see you later?"

I nodded, feeling disappointment creep over me when he rolled up his magazine in preparation to leave. In a gesture that was so old-fashioned it made my heart skip a beat, he took my hand in his and bent to press his lips gently to it.

"Good day, Ms. Stackhouse. It's been a pleasure." He strode across the lawn and soon slipped between the tall hedges and out of view. I twirled a lock of hair and gazed dreamily at the hand he'd kissed. So what if I didn't know the first thing about him and what he did? I knew what he didn't do - cook - and that was a major attraction.

I successfully avoided Sophie-Anne and had more fun on that first day than I'd ever imagined. At dinner, though, I found my mind wandering back to the dark and mysterious Bill Compton. I gazed out the window and noticed a pale moonlit figure crossing the lawn. Recognizing Bill's stride from this morning, I excused myself, saying goodnight to my tablemates, and slipped out the back door of the hotel and down the stone stairs to the garden.

I made a quick circle of the immediate area, but didn't see another soul. I must have missed him. Absentmindedly, I walked away from the hotel toward the polo fields. The beautiful, clear night was illuminated by the full moon, making it easy to pick my way across the hotel grounds. Stars burned against the night sky, a sight I rarely got to see in the city.

"It's beautiful, isn't it? The Southern Sky?"

I jumped at Bill's smooth voice behind me.

"Bill." I calmed my breathing down and smiled. "I thought I saw you out here."

"Come with me." He took my hand and led me through the trees to a little clearing with a stone bench. I perched by his side and followed his extended his hand, pointing out the upside-down constellations unfamiliar to my eyes.

"Do you know what that one is?" I asked pointing to a little cluster of stars to our left.

Rather than answer, he turned to me and brushed his lips against mine. I leaned into him encouragingly and melted when his tongue slipped beyond my parted lips. If I hadn't been sitting I believe my knees would have buckled.

He pulled back and smiled. "I must leave early tomorrow morning, but I hope I can see you again when we're both back in the city."

I nodded and handed him a business card from my pocket. He examined it in the moonlight and slipped it into his back pocket.

"Sorry I don't have any of mine on me right now." He patted his chest and side pockets indicating he was bereft of cards. "But I will look forward to giving you a call next week. I'd better be going – may I escort you back to your room?"

I smiled and shook my head. "No, I think I'll just sit here and enjoy the night air for a bit."

He kissed me lightly one last time. "I bid you a fond farewell, Sookie Stackhouse." I could hear his retreating footsteps and then nothing but night sounds all around me.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The rest of the trip was a breeze. I was walking on a cloud - who didn't dream of meeting a dashing stranger in a far-flung destination? Sophie-Anne had apparently been called away on other business to another corner of the globe, and I soaked up all that Mendoza had to offer.

The second the plane landed at JFK and I was able to turn on my cell, I was bombarded with a stream of frantic texts from Lafayette, my friend and trusted sous-chef. The power in the neighborhood had been knocked out overnight and within a few hours the food in our coolers would be at risk for spoiling. Losing the food could spell financial disaster for the restaurant. i called Lafayette quick as lightning and dispensed with the niceties.

"Have you tried to get a generator?"

"I've tried everywhere."

"Jersey?"

"Everywhere, Sook. There are outages all over the five boroughs."

I was silently trying to formulate a plan.

"I know you're going to hate this, but you know who can help us."

Fuck. There had to be another way. I didn't answer.

"You know he's got the space in his cooler. He'd do anything for you."

I grumbled unintelligibly.

"Don't be a proud fool and risk the restaurant, Sookie."

My mind raced looking for a different solution but I was coming up blank. Fuck.

"I'll call you back, Lafayette." I hung up and felt my stomach churn. The last thing I wanted was to be indebted to the man who was always trying to gain the upper hand with me, but Lafayette was right. I couldn't afford to be proud. The restaurant ran on a tight margin. If I didn't ask for help it could spell the end of my dream.

I dialed the number and bit my lip when I heard the voice that had taunted me for years. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Hi Eric. I'm….in a bit of a bind and I'm not quite sure where else to turn."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Within forty-five minutes my cab pulled up to the back of the restaurant. The van from Eric's was parked out back and two guys I vaguely recognized were working with Lafayette, busily moving camping coolers of meats, fish, cheeses and other perishables into the open back doors of the vehicle.

Another van pulled up from a florist shop. The deliveryman emerged with a gorgeous arrangement of lilies.

"Sookie Stackhouse?" he queried. I accepted the flowers greedily and tore open the card.

_I hope you'll reconsider my offer._

_Sophie-Anne_

It definitely wasn't whom I'd hoped or expected to receive an arrangement from. I tucked the vase into the crook of my arm and made my way inside to find Eric leaning against a counter of my darkened kitchen, watching the progress with an amused smile. A little sheepishly I approached him, thinking of our last encounter.

"Nice flowers. New boyfriend?"

"They're from Sophie-Anne LeClerq."

"Ah?" He raised an eyebrown in question. "You didn't sell out did you?"

I extended the card to him. He quickly read it and nodded his approval. "Good. Not that I would've expected any less from you."

I gave him half a smile and remembered the reason we were standing in my powerless kitchen. "Eric, thank you." I gestured to the guys moving the expensive inventory out of my cooler. I was so grateful to him, but it killed me to be in his debt. "I'm not sure what I would have done."

His smile softened and I noticed how good-looking he was. All the parts - tousled blond hair that hung a couple of inches off his shoulders, strong jaw line, devastatingly blue eyes – added up to a very pretty package. I hated when I noticed how handsome he was. He looked me in the eye and winked. "You could have always closed up shop and come to work with me."

I smiled at his unrelenting nature and shook my head. "I'm grateful for your help, but I would _never_ work under you, Eric"

His quirked eyebrow turned my words into something altogether different than my intended meaning. "Never say never."

I rolled my eyes and a frost settled over any warm and fuzzy feelings I may have momentarily experienced. My instinct was to tell him off, but I couldn't very well do that while he was in the act of saving my hide. He knew it too.

I bit my tongue and took a calming breath. "How can I make this up to you?" I offered my suggestion quickly when I saw Eric's wheels turning. "Of course, I'll cover the cost of your guys and gas, and am happy to rent the space in your cooler until my power is restored." I paused and then in a moment of temporary insanity added, "And…I'll make dinner for you."

His stance shifted at the offer of dinner. "Done," he smiled. "But forget the gas, guys and cooler rent. Instead I get to make dinner for you too."

I rubbed my hands over my weary eyes. Criminy.

"Deal?" Eric asked.

I swallowed hard. "Deal."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The dinner I offered to make Eric was on the calendar for Thursday of the following week. It loomed like tax day, like a final exam. I'd put some thought into the menu. I wanted a meal that said, "I'm grateful to you, but I don't want to be involved with you, so don't go thinking this is a date." I was finding it difficult to express that in three courses.

An unknown number came up on my phone.

"Sookie Stackhouse," I answered in my business tone.

"Hello, Sookie. It's Bill Compton." I nearly dropped the phone at the sound of the silky voice on the other end.

"Ah, hi Bill," I fumbled like an idiot.

"How was the rest of your time in Mendoza?"

"I loved Mendoza. It far exceeded my expectations."

"It exceeded mine too, but I think that's because I met you there."

I melted. He seemed to always say exactly what I wanted to hear.

"I travel a lot for work so I'm not in the city much, but I'll be home next Thursday. May I take you out?"

I felt like a teenager who found out about a party on a night she's already committed to babysit. I flogged the wall with the kitchen towel I had gripped in my hand.

"Sookie?"

"Sorry, I was just looking at my calendar. Thursday night would be perfect." Crap. I'd just have to reschedule with Eric. I almost felt bad about it, but I didn't want to miss the chance to see Bill again.

"Great. I'll pick you up from your restaurant at 7:30."

"Why don't I just give you my home address?"

"I'm pretty close to the restaurant. Plus, I'd love to see it – if you don't mind."

I shrugged. "Of course not. I'll see you then."

I sat dreamily after hanging up the phone for a couple of moments, and then dialed Eric.

"Hey, hot stuff."

I didn't feel quite so bad about rescheduling anymore.

"Listen, Eric…I'm going to have to reschedule dinner next Thursday."

There was silence on the other end of the phone, but then he finally spoke. "That's fine. How about Sunday then? We both close early Sunday."

"Sunday it is." I tried to protect my Sunday nights since it was the only night the restaurant was closed, but under the circumstances I didn't feel I had a lot of choice.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

I arrived at the restaurant at 7:30 on the nose to Lafayette giving me the stink eye.

"What?"

"That creepy dude has been waiting for you since 7:15 - just hanging out in the kitchen watching us."

"Bill? He's not creepy."

Lafayette gave me a long stare and sauntered back to the kitchen. I followed him through the swinging door and saw Bill leaning against the wall, surveying the work of my staff. I thought back to that moonlit kiss in Argentina and my stomach fluttered a bit. When he saw me, he pushed off the wall and kissed me on the cheek.

"You were early," I smiled.

"I was close by and thought I'd swing on in. I hope I haven't been in the way."

Lafayette shot daggers across the kitchen.

"Nonsense. Of course you weren't in the way. Shall we get out of here?"

His hand on the small of my back led me out the back door and I waved goodnight to the kitchen crew. Bill took me to one of my favorite Spanish restaurants.

"The paella here is wonderful – have you had it?" I'd never been one to contain my enthusiasm for food.

Bill shook his head and I could feel my eyes widen in shock.

"No? You're missing out on one of the best things in life!"

"I'm allergic to shellfish, so most paella is out of the question."

"Oh…how awful. A life without shellfish is just….." I shook my head thinking about my love of shrimp, lobster, clams and mussels.

"You can't miss what you don't know."

"Surely you've tried it once?"

"Once. That was all it took."

"Did your tongue swell up and your throat close?" I kept a supply of epipens in the restaurant just in case somebody had a reaction. It was a great fear of mine.

"Fortunately, no. But it wasn't very pleasant."

"Well, we'll just order something else then."

After ordering and settling into our first glass of sangria I asked him to tell me more about his job.

"It keeps me on the road a lot. But I really like the exporting business."

"Exporting? I thought you'd said importing?" I laughed and took another sip of sangria. "Of course I'd been traveling for hours, so my brain was probably on the fritz when you told me."

"Well, I used to be in importing and now I'm in exporting."

"I feel like I'm talking to Art Vandelay." I laughed, then instantly hoped he didn't get my reference.

"Who?"

I laughed and waved my hand to tell him to forget it.

The rest of dinner was quite nice. I shared with him how I became interested in cooking and the challenges of running an independent restaurant.

"Sookie," he said near the end of dinner, suddenly getting serious and taking my hand across the table, "I'm not around much, but I really like you. I hope I can take you out again when I'm back in town." He was an unusual guy, but I liked that about him. Different was good – and a welcome change from the people I was used to in the restaurant industry.

"I'd like that very much, Bill."

"Are you ready to go?"

I nodded and left the restaurant hand in hand with him. We took a cab back to my apartment and he gave me a chaste kiss on the stoop before leaving. I sat on the stoop for some time, enjoying the night air and thinking of the enigmatic Bill Compton.

Approaching footsteps caught my attention. The unmistakable large frame of Eric Northman strolled up and sat next to me on the steps uninvited. He looked over my date night clothing.

"Did you reschedule on me so you could go on a date?" His voice was a bit incredulous, and I detected a slightly injured look in his eye.

A wave of guilt welled up, but a bigger wall of anger quickly overpowered it.

"We have plans for Sunday night, Eric." My tone was sharp. "I'm sorry I rescheduled on you, but what I did tonight is frankly none of your business."

He nodded his head and raised an eyebrow. "You know what? You're right. It isn't my business." He stood and walked off. "Good night, Sookie."

I swallowed hard, and wondered why watching him walk away made my chest ache.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

I was the first to arrive at the restaurant on Sunday morning and was confused to find the backdoor unlocked. I flipped on the lights and walked around, but nothing seemed to be missing.

When Lafayette walked in the door, I spun on him.

"The staff is getting sloppy, Lafayette. The back door was unlocked. You need to ge-"

"Easy there, princess. Don't be blaming the staff for anything – they work their asses off for you."

"But Lafayette…"

"Zip it Sookie_. I_ was the last to leave. _I_ locked the door."

A chill ran down my spine.

"I've looked around, but it doesn't seem like anything's missing."

Lafayette shrugged. "Maybe it was some kids looking for booze."

"We should do an inventory, but it didn't look like any was gone."

Lafayette narrowed his eyes in concentration but didn't say anything. We sat for a while in contemplative silence. Eventually I spoke; the quietness was driving me crazy.

"Did I mention that Eric Northman is coming here for dinner after the restaurant closes?"

Lafayette's eyebrows raised in interest. "No you most certainly did not mention you had a date. I'd have worn something a little more flattering if I'd known I'd be seeing him." He smoothed down his shirt and puffed out his chest.

I grimaced. "It's not a date, Lafayette. It's part one of thanking him for helping us out of the cooler bind."

"What's part two?"

"He's making me dinner."

The long look from Lafayette eventually turned into a smile and he walked off saying "If you know what's good for you, you'll get all over Eric and tell that Bill creep to lose your number."

"Psh. What's good for me. Right," I scoffed under my breath and walked into my small office to get some work done.

"Have you been in my files?" I hollered out to Lafayette. "They're all out of order."

"Girl, you got to stop blaming me for shit. I'm sure it was whoever was in here last night."

I'd never thought of myself as slow, but it sure seemed to be taking me a long time to put two and two together. I took a step back and surveyed the office again. It wasn't my financial records that were out of order, it was my files of recipes and inspiration. My blood ran cold. Somebody must be trying to find the secret of my sauce. Of course I never wrote it down, I'd been making it for so long I didn't need to. The only other person who knew the recipe was Lafayette, and despite our at times contentious relationship, I trusted him implicitly with my most precious secret.

I found him in the front by the bar. "Lafayette, I think somebody broke in trying to get their hands on the secret of my sauce." I stood in disbelief, arms akimbo.

"You're thick sometimes, you know that?"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

We blew through the brunch and lunch crowd and said goodbye to the last customers at 4:30 p.m. Once the kitchen staff cleared out I started preparing dinner for Eric. Lafayette was lingering.

"You giving him your secret sauce?"

I shot him a warning look.

"Oh, that's right. You wait until the second date for that."

I pulled a bottle of white wine out from the fridge and poured myself a tumbler. "This isn't a date."

"And it's a damned shame." Eric's voice came from over my shoulder. He must have slipped in the front.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" Lafayette looked Eric up and down.

"Maybe for some. Apparently not for all." Eric looked at me and winked. He seemed to have recovered from Thursday night.

"You're early," I grumbled.

"I'm prompt," he corrected.

I breathed in a calming breath, reminding myself of the help he'd given me, and donned my hostess hat. "Can I get you a glass of wine or a beer?"

"I'd love an Anchor Steam. I can just grab it?" he thumbed in the direction of the beverage cooler.

"Thanks – help yourself to whatever you'd like. Lafayette, do you want to join us?"

"I was just heading out." He was almost out the back door but then wheeled around. "I forgot to tell you Bill Compton called on the restaurant phone today."

A big smile spread across my face. "Thanks, Lafayette. See you tomorrow."

"Bill Compton?" Eric said with a sneer.

I turned back to face him. "Once again, it isn't any of your business, but yes, I'm seeing a guy named Bill Compton. I'm sure it's not anybody you know. He's not in the business." I stuck my nose up in the air a bit and busied myself with dinner preparations.

"I know a Bill Compton from prep school. He was a snake."

I rolled my eyes. "The Bill Compton I know is a perfect gentleman. I'm sure there's more than one. My Bill is in importing, er….exporting. Import/Export. Whatever."

"Your Bill?" Eric scoffed. After a moment of contemplation he shrugged. "Maybe it is somebody else. The Bill Compton I know was a grade A loser who got by on looks and charm. He wouldn't have what it takes to make it in the import/export business."

I largely ignored Eric and continued chopping.

"So, hot stuff, what's on the menu?"

I spun around with my kitchen knife in hand. "Enough with the hot stuff business, Eric."

He puts his hands up in surrender. "Easy. What's on the menu, Sookie?"

Sufficiently mollified, I turned back to my work. "We're starting with a flash fried salt crusted shrimp with a side of celery root remoulade, and then pan-seared scallops and lardons on a bed of frisee with a smoked tomato and fresh corn relish. For dessert…."

Eric interrupted me. "You can surprise me for dessert."

I leveled a look at him.

"It all sounds very nice, Sookie. Thanks."

I stopped for a moment and looked at him. "No, thank _you_. I know we have our differences, but I'm truly grateful for what you did."

He looked at me for a long moment. "Anytime." He took a sip of his beer. "I don't see how we have differences though."

"Eric, you've driven me crazy since the day I met you. You know that."

"I could say the same." He smiled.

"There's the difference. Different kind of crazy."

"You'll eventually come around to my kind of crazy."

I laughed dismissively and plated the shrimp. He was incorrigible. "Would you like to eat out front?"

"I'd prefer here so I can watch you work."

I let out a resigned breath and drew up a couple of stools to a clear counter corner. Eric gathered place settings and arranged our spots while I brought the appetizer plates over.

Eric raised his bottle and clinked my tumbler. "To our first date."

I ignored him and gave my own toast. "Thanks for your help when I needed it most."

Cooking for another chef is always an interesting prospect. It's not just about cranking out a toothsome meal, but the way you use the ingredients, the preparation. Between chefs, a meal can be an intellectual exercise

He held a shrimp up and twirled it between his thumb and index finger. "I love the shrimp. I've wanted to serve a flash fried shrimp in my place, but I don't know that my customers are up to eating them shell and all."

"Oh, I haven't served it for the public. Just for friends on special occasions."

"Does that make me a friend and this a special occasion?"

"You are relentless!" I laughed. I looked into his familiar face and thought about how long I had known Eric. I'd always held him at a distance, but we'd been in each other's lives for a long time now.

"But yes, I actually do consider you my friend." The admission surprised me. I'd never though of him as anything but a bother. I felt like I was seeing him with fresh eyes.

"I'll take that," he smiled. "For now."

I cleared our plates and fired up the stove for the scallops. The dinner plates were already prepped with the salad. In a matter of minutes I slid the perfectly golden scallops on the bed of greens and set them before Eric.

"It's a shellfish extravaganza tonight," I laughed.

"The Bill Compton I know wouldn't have been able to eat this," Eric said as he dug in.

The smile faded off my face. "Because he's allergic, huh?" I could feel my eye twitch.

"Yep. It's probably not the same guy though."

I suddenly wasn't so sure.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Bill? It's Sookie."

"I'm glad you called. I was about to head out of town again and was afraid I'd miss you."

Despite the doubts that Eric had tried to raise in my mind, Bill's voice still gave me a little thrill.

"Well, I'm glad I caught you too then."

"Can I interest you in the symphony tomorrow night?"

"I'd love to go." I smiled into the phone.

"I'll pick you up at 7:30."

"At my apartment this time, right?"

"Yes, at your apartment," he laughed. "I don't think Lafayette took too kindly to me hanging around the kitchen."

"Well, he can be funny like that."

"We all have our foibles. I'll see you tomorrow night."

My phone rang as soon as I'd hung up. Without checking the incoming number I answered, "Bill?"

There was a long pause at the end of the line. "Uh, no…it's Eric."

"Sorry, Eric. What's up?"

"I was hoping to cash in the rest of my thank you and make dinner for you the night after tomorrow."

I was grateful he hadn't suggested tomorrow night. For whatever reason, Eric made me feel guilty about going out with Bill.

"That works for me. What time?"

"8:30? At my place?"

The idea of going over to Eric's gave me pause, but I agreed anyway.

"Did you see the article about Sophie-Anne in the paper today?" he asked before hanging up.

"No, I missed it. What did it say?"

"It sounds like her business isn't quite as solvent as she'd like everybody to believe."

"Humph." No wonder she was pushing for my sauce. Undoubtedly that's where she made the highest profit margin.

"Yeah, I thought you'd be interested to know that."

I wondered if I'd see how persistent a desperate Sophie-Anne LeClerq could become.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

A knock on my apartment door at 7:30 startled me. I wasn't surprised that Bill was on time, but I'd expected him to buzz from the outside door. He must have followed one of my neighbors into the building.

"Hi," I answered the door and took in a breath. He looked quite dashing in a sport coat.

"For you." He held out a small bouquet of freesia.

"How beautiful, thank you." I gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Let me go put these in water."

I returned from the kitchen with the flowers in a glass vase and placed them on the small table just inside the door.

"Shall we?" Bill asked with a smile.

"Let me just grab my keys." I opened the drawer of the small table next to the front door where I kept all my keys. "Whoa." I righted the vase of freesia I'd nearly knocked off the wobbly table.

Crisis averted. "Okay, I'm ready to go."

We didn't have time for a cocktail before the concert, but Bill suggested we have one afterward. I was happy to extend the night a bit longer. Things had been moving at a glacial pace and I was hoping to move beyond handholding and innocent smooches.

"I have some really nice port if you'd like a glass?" Amelia would be so proud of me for inviting a guy up to my place.

Bill gave me a kiss on the tip of my nose. "I love port." The nose kiss was a bit weird, but I overlooked it, happy that he was coming to my apartment.

Once through the door and I flipped on the lights.

"I'll get the port. Make yourself comfortable." I gestured to the living room and walked off toward the kitchen. Bill was inspecting my collection of old framed family photographs and favorite books when I returned.

I handed him the deep ruby glass, turned on some music and sank into a corner of the sofa.

He smiled and took the other corner. This was obviously going to take some work.

"So, tell me more about yourself, Bill."

"Oh, there's not too much to tell. My family grew up in Pennsylvania. I've lived in the Northeast my entire life." He shifted closer to me on the sofa. "I'd rather hear about you."

I didn't want to talk about myself, or anything else for that matter anymore. I shook my head no. "No, I've talked too much already."

Bill leaned across the sofa and kissed me like he had in Argentina. I scooted closer to him and slid my hands around his neck. With classically bad timing, I had to excuse myself to go to the restroom.

"I'll be right back," I said and slipped back to the bathroom.

I heard something fall over in the front room, but didn't think much of it. After washing my hands I returned to Bill on the sofa and sat down much closer to him.

"Now, where were we?" I smiled.

Bill leaned in and kissed me softly and sweetly, then pulled back. "I'd better be going, my dear, but I'll call you when I'm back?"

I pouted a little bit. "Okay. When do you think that'll be?"

"Wednesday."

I straightened my blouse and walked him to the door.

"Thank you for taking me to the symphony."

He pulled me to him and gave me a kiss. It didn't exactly set my world on fire, but I thought back to our first kiss in Argentina and summoned the warmth of excitement in my chest.

"Good night, sweet Sookie."

I closed and locked the door behind him, turned off the lights and music, and drifted contemplatively back toward my room. I slipped and landed squarely on my tailbone in a little puddle of water. I groaned for a moment, and then got a towel to dry the water on the floor that must have spilled when I nearly knocked over the vase earlier. Thank goodness I didn't fall while Bill was here and mortify myself.

I rubbed my butt on the way back to bed, and then crashed for the night.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

I knocked on Eric's door at 8:30 p.m., armed with an impressive bottle of cabernet.

"Sookie," Eric smiled when he opened the door. I was suddenly struck with the realization that the sight of Eric didn't make me want to flee. In fact, I was actually….looking forward to spending time with him?

"You have a weird look on your face."

I shook my head. "Sorry, I just…had a funny thought." I pushed the bottle into his hands. "For you."

"Thanks. Come in." He closed the door behind me and led me back to the delicious aroma emanating from the kitchen.

"Mmmm…that smells good. What are you making?"

"It's a surprise. Red or white?"

"What are you having?"

"Red."

"I'll have the same."

He moved around the kitchen with practiced ease. I was curious to see what he'd prepared for dinner. His dishes had always struck me as a bit flashy, but I suppose it was a reflection of his confidence.

Eric's phone beeped, signaling an incoming text as he was pouring my glass. An odd expression crossed his face when he read the message.

He handed me my glass and hesitated for a second. "Sorry, do you mind if I make a quick call?"

"Of course not." I settled into a bar stool and surveyed his kitchen. It was functional and neat as a pin. He did have a few items that reflected his Nordic heritage, but it was overall very modern and masculine.

He stepped back in a minute later and took a seat on the stool next to me.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

From the look on his face I could see that he wasn't sure how to answer. It made my stomach knot.

"Sookie," he began, looking at the wine in his hand, "I'm not exactly sure how to tell you this. Just know that I'm telling you this because I'm your friend."

He looked me in the eye and took the glass from my hand and set it on the counter.

"I asked a couple of friends from school if they knew what Bill Compton was up to these days. Nobody had heard from him in years. I just got a text from my friend that he ran into Bill this past weekend."

My brow furrowed in confusion. Bill was out of town this weekend. It wasn't out of the question that he would run into somebody he knew out of town. I shrugged for him to continue.

"Bill has a girlfriend."

I was having difficulty comprehending what Eric was saying. Did he mean me?

"Sookie." He looked at me with nothing but concern in his eyes. "Apparently he's been dating Sophie-Anne LeClerq for three years."

My mouth ran dry and I felt like all the blood in my body drained through my toes into a hole in the floor. I was confused and needed a moment to process. I stared at a fixed spot at my feet and blinked and thought of my first encounter with Bill, the morning after I'd turned down Sophie-Anne's proposal. Things started clicking into place

"That mother fu…"

"Sookie. Stay cool." Eric's eyes darted nervously between my face and my hand that swiped my wineglass from the counter. I downed a healthy gulp and stood to pace the kitchen floor.

"Oh, I'm cool alright." I raised my eyebrows maniacally, and felt the rage building as I continued to put the pieces together.

I was breathing heavier and looked Eric in the eyes. "They were trying to steal my secret sauce," I said in a shaky voice. "Sophie-Anne asked me to become one of her chefs in Argentina. I met Bill the morning after I turned her down. She obviously sent him after me. He must have been the person that broke into the restaurant last weekend."

I shook my head. It was a blow to my pride to know that Bill's interest in me was fabricated. I felt foolish and a little more wounded than I'd like to admit. Eric pulled me to his chest and wrapped his arms around me. I sank into him and breathed in his scent, closed my eyes and allowed myself to be comforted. "God, I'm so stupid." My words were muffled by the wall of muscle before me.

"No you're not."

I pulled away from him and shook my head.

"Sookie, how could you possibly think you're stupid? Bill is a duplicitous snake involved with a desperate woman who would stop at nothing to get what she wants."

I laughed weakly. "I told you people only want me for my sauce."

Eric took my chin firmly in his hand and looked me square in the eye. He repeated the words he'd been telling me for ages. "Not me."

I swallowed and didn't back down from the intensity of his gaze. I stared into his eyes for a protracted moment.

"Why?" I whispered the question I'd never before asked.

Slowly Eric raised two fingers and gently tapped my forehead, then my chest.

I continued looking into the eyes of the man I trusted, who would do anything for me, whom I was begrudgingly attracted to, and who I found myself wanting to spend time with in spite of myself. My eyes drifted down to his beautiful lips. I edged forward, slowly, until I could feel his breath on my mouth. My eyes closed, and his mouth was on mine. I could taste the lingering wine on his tongue; feel his stubble scraping my chin deliciously. Good lord. I couldn't care less about Bill Compton.

Eric pulled away with a smile on his lips. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

I answered by stretching to reach his lips again. Eric's hands ran up my arms till he grasped two fistfuls of my loose waves of hair and pushed me against the counter. My heart pounded, not because I was kissing a mystery man, but because I knew exactly whom I was kissing. In our frenzy, a peppermill tumbled to the ground, but we disregarded it….until it jogged a thought in my mind.

"Oh!" I gasped and pushed back. Eric and I were both breathing heavily. Desire was evident in his eyes.

"What?" he panted, pulling me back towards him.

"I think Bill may have taken a key to my apartment last night." I was breathless.

Eric pushed me back half an arms length to look me in the eye. "Why do you think that?"

I sighed and looked away sheepishly. "He took me to the symphony last night. When he picked me up, he saw where I keep my keys. Later, I went to the bathroom and heard a thud. I now realize he may have knocked over a vase on table where I keep my keys when he was getting them out."

"But you didn't notice anything missing."

I shook my head no. "But I wasn't looking either."

"Let's think this through." We perched on the barstools facing each other. "Tell me more about the break in at the restaurant."

"Nothing was taken, but I could tell that somebody had been in my office files."

"Do you have the recipe written down anywhere?"

I shook my head no.

"Good. So you're thinking that Bill is going to try to break into your apartment and look for the recipe there?

I shrugged and raised my palms in question. "Maybe?"

Eric's brow furrowed deep in thought.

A rational thought popped into my mind. "I should call a locksmith and change the locks."

Eric shook his head. "No. Don't let him know he's been found out. Beat Bill and Sophie-Anne at their own game."

I looked at him considering his words. Our mouths slowly turned up into matching grins.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Much to my chagrin, we abandoned the delicious smelling dinner at Eric's and headed back to my place in haste, but only after making a pit stop at an all-night market in China Town.

When we made it in the door to my apartment I slid open the little drawer of the entrance table and sifted through the keys. Sure enough, one of my two sets of spare keys was missing.

"That rat," I said under my breath. I turned to Eric with fire in my belly. "You work on the secret ingredient, I'll work on writing out the recipe. Everything you need should be in the kitchen."

I pulled an index card from my desk and a tea bag from a tin to steep in some warm water. With a quick dip, the card looked sufficiently aged. I fanned it to dry, and watched Eric crush dried shrimp into a fine powder with my heavy mortar and pestle, then rifle through my kitchen adding different ingredients to the concoction, sniffing on occasion to see make sure the scent of shrimp was sufficiently disguised.

When the card was dry enough to take ink without running, I began the task of writing the recipe that was at the heart of this mess, taking care to make substitutions that would make it look like the original, but taste nothing like it. The real stroke of genius - the addition of a secret ingredient—was all Eric's idea. A little extra something thrown in just for Bill. That lying rat bastard.

When I'd finished writing the recipe, I bent it strategically in a few spots, and dog-eared a corner. It looked good, but I could do better. I dipped my finger in a jar of honey and smeared just a smidge on the corner of the card. I licked the excess off my finger, and then powdered the card with a little flour for texture. Eric looked over to check on my progress.

I held it up and raised my eyebrow, looking for his approval. He nodded with a smile.

"I'm almost done here. Do you have a jar or something to put this in?'

"I have just the thing." I got out the stepladder and pulled down a large glass jar with a screw lid from above the refrigerator. Eric took the jar from me and set it safely on the counter, and then helped me down from the ladder. He took advantage of the situation, running his hands down the sides of my torso and nipping my neck.

"Eric, let's get this done," I said in a strained voice. He nodded his agreement and turned back to the task at hand. I got out another index card and in a neat hand lettered "Gran's Sauce Base" and securely taped it to the side of the glass jar with clear heavy-duty packing tape. I left a stack of plastic takeout containers and lids on the counter to make it easy for Bill to take what he wanted without digging through my kitchen.

We placed the glass jar inside the cabinet above the stove in a logical location for such an ingredient. I tucked the recipe card inside my well-loved recipe box atop my counter. The thought of Bill going through my things made me shudder, but Eric had convinced me that it needed to be done.

"And now?" I asked Eric.

Eric took a step closer to me and slid his hands around my waist. "Now we wait."

The sensation of warm, soft lips slowly working my jaw line made my stomach drop.

"We?" I questioned weakly.

"I'm not leaving you here alone. Not when there's a secret sauce stealer on the loose." I could feel the smile on his mouth as he whispered the ridiculous words into my ear.

"But that might take a long time; days even," I pointed out.

He kissed me teasingly. "Fine by me."

My hands clasped around his neck and my tongue slid across his. Kissing him seemed like the most natural thing; I wondered why I'd resisted him for so long. Our kisses quickly became more frantic. I pulled him in the direction of my bedroom and once through the doors, we tumbled onto my bed in a laughing heap. I'd managed to free his shirt from his waistband when he sat up abruptly.

"What?" I panted.

"Let me turn out the lights in front, in case he comes tonight."

I nodded and flopped back on the mattress and stared up at the ceiling. I couldn't believe I was waiting in my bed for Eric Northman. I grinned at the thought.

The bed shifted with the weight of Eric crawling up the mattress toward me. On the way he took the hem of my shirt between his teeth and slowly dragged it up, exposing the skin of my stomach. His hot tongue dipped inside my bellybutton. My stomach muscles tightened at the sensation. I grabbed fistfuls of his hair and gently pulled him up to me, then peeled the shirt over his head and drew in a sharp breath at his beautifully sculpted torso. Everything else about him was gorgeous, I don't know why his chest wouldn't be too. I couldn't keep my hands off of it.

Nimble fingers unbuttoned my shirt, and gently pushed it aside, exposing my skin to the cooler air. He pulled down the delicate sheer fabric of my bra cup and groaned slightly, taking me into his mouth. A hand slid behind my back and expertly unclasped the hooks, freeing my breasts for further exploration. I shed my shirt and flung my bra to the floor anxiously anticipating his touch. Eric stopped stock-still. I pulled him toward me to encourage him onward, but he put a finger to my lips and shushed quietly in my ear.

I strained me ears to listen and heard very quiet footsteps across the living room's hardwood floor. My heart raced at the thought of Bill in the apartment. Eric placed his hand over my heart and was nose to nose with me. He kissed me tenderly and whispered in my ear. "Don't worry - you're safe with me. We'll wait until he leaves and then follow him."

I nodded my understanding. Eric raked his teeth over my earlobe, and ran his hands lightly over my breasts.

"Eric," I breathed quietly with a smile on my face and shook my head no.

"I hate to waste this opportunity," he breathed back into my ear.

I smiled and gently pushed him off of me, then silently rolled over to pick up my bra. I rehooked it and slid my shirt back on, my fingers a little shaky as I rebuttoned it. Through the crack under the door I could make out the weak beam of a flashlight sweeping through the living room. Thank God Eric was here. I would be terrified if I were alone, even if it was only Bill.

I thought about kissing Bill last night and nearly wretched. Eric turned to me questioningly and rubbed my back.

"I'm okay," I whispered.

We sat on the edge of the bed expectantly, fidgeting due to the high levels of adrenaline pumping through our bodies. Eric held my hand and rhythmically rubbed the meaty part of my palm with his thumb. At last, we heard the door quietly click close. Eric sprang into action and quickly, but stealthily went to the front door and pressed an ear to listen for the opening of the outer door to the building. He motioned me to look out the front window. I caught sight of Bill crossing the street then heading west.

We slid on shoes, and were out the door. I locked the door behind me and we silently slipped onto the street in hot pursuit of Bill. At a safe distance we ducked behind trees and cars down the sidewalk. Bill was carrying something in one hand, presumably "Gran's sauce base" that he'd lifted from my kitchen. I practically gasped when he passed under a streetlight. My nostrils flared in rage. Not only had he broken into my house to steal my secret sauce after taking me on several fake dates, the fucker stole my favorite canvas tote bag. My heart was pounding even faster; he was going to pay for this.

We trailed him for several blocks into an increasingly industrial area. Bill removed a key from his pocket and opened the glass door of a non-descript brick building. Eric bolted at super human speed and caught the edge of the door before it closed. He held it barely open with a fingertip while I peeked around to see Bill waiting for the elevator. I motioned that the coast was clear when the elevator doors closed on Bill, and we snuck inside the building. The progress of the car was displayed above the elevator doors. It stopped on the 7th floor, and then began to descend back to the ground floor. Eric pulled me back into a shadowy nook of the lobby. I could feel his relief when it opened devoid of passengers.

I crossed to the building directory and studied the 7th floor occupants. Beckoning to Eric I pointed to one business in Suite 712, "LeClerq Foods".

Eric nodded. He grabbed my hand and pulled me to the elevator. Once the doors closed he pulled me against him roughly and devoured my lips. I was gasping for breath when we reached the 7th floor. Still holding my hand he pulled me down the hallway to Suite 712. He turned to me outside the doors and looked me in the eye.

"You okay?" I nodded and smiled to reassure him.

We pushed in through the main door and crept through darkness to swinging doors that were lit from within.

Eric peered through the round window. "Test kitchen," he mouthed silently.

I crowded next to Eric to take in the view of Bill carefully studying my fake recipe card and pulling ingredients from the stocked refrigerator. We watched him with great interest for nearly fifteen minutes. I was convulsing in silent laughter when Bill opened the plastic container of "Gran's sauce base" and measured it into the pan. A squeak slipped out and Eric shot me a look of death. Tears from my contained laughter were streaming down my cheeks. Eric's glare morphed to a smile and he shook his head, but then he too fought a laugh off when Bill dipped a spoon in the sauce to taste. I doubled over, my chest wracked with silent laughter.

With great concentration and much deep breathing, I calmed down and wiped the tears from my face. I looked through the window again and squeezed Eric's arm when Bill started itching around the collar. I patted my back pocket for the hundredth time to make sure the epipen was still there - just in case - then gave Eric the thumbs up.

"Let me get this, Eric. You wait out here and be my back-up." I whispered. Then I stretched on my toes and gave him the most toe-curling kiss I could summon, and stepped forward to confront Bill.

Like a sheriff in the Wild West, I pushed through the swinging doors with gusto.

"Whatcha makin'?" I asked with a big smile.

Bill looked up from his concoction in shocked silence and itched uncontrollably at the angry red hives that had appeared on his face. He was swelling up so fast you'd think he had an air hose shoved up his butt.

I crinkled up my nose a bit. "Oooh. Feeling a little itchy, huh?" I winked conspiratorially.

He looked at the tub of "Gran's sauce base" and then back to me, his eyes widening as the realization he'd been had sank in.

"You sad, little man…" I donned a melodramatic expression and shook my head.

"_Nobody _messes with my secret sauce."


End file.
